


You Had My Heart (a long, long time ago)

by Lecavayay, verbaeghe



Series: Nowhere, Oklahoma [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Syracuse Crunch, Tampa Bay Lightning, Timestamp, meeting the friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-15 23:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11816559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe
Summary: The old radio in the hallway is almost always turned on, crooning some sort of country song whenever he walks into the house.Turns out that Slater was right about it growing on him.





	You Had My Heart (a long, long time ago)

**Author's Note:**

> As if we could not write more in this universe. This takes place a little while after the end of the original story (and well before the epilogue). Please excuse any typos you find.

Braydon sits at the kitchen table while he waits for Slater to finish up in the bathroom. It’s almost tragic that the shower is still way too small for two people, nearly criminal that he can’t be there to watch the water slide down Slater’s body, really. Braydon needs to work on Slater about expanding the bathroom.

Maybe he should save pushing renovations until he actually moves in. He sighs.

They can not find his replacement back in St. Louis fast enough.

But tonight, Slater’s going to put on some clothes Braydon spoiled him with and they're going into town to some dive bar so Slater can show off his fancy city boy, brag a little.

He hadn't actually _said_ that last part, but Braydon dressed accordingly. He’s only here a few nights and first impressions are important.

He looks to the hallway when he hears the door open, a puff of steam escaping from the bathroom. Slater’s there, leaning against the frame and fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. It takes Braydon's breath away to see the way the slacks he's wearing hug his thighs, to count the number of buttons he’s left open, showing off just the right amount of chest. His still-damp curls frame his face perfectly; and that small, nervous smile on his lips? It may be the most beautiful thing that Braydon's ever seen.

It seems like Braydon thinks that a lot when it comes to Slater, but it doesn't make it any less true.

"Well, I'm as cleaned up as I'm going to be," Slater says after a moment. “But I can only get so fancy.”

Braydon smiles. "Isn't that a song?"

Slater absolutely lights up. "I can't believe you caught that!" He crosses the room, drops onto Braydon's lap. "Didn’t take you too long either. I'm so proud. It's such a big day."

Braydon laughs, presses a kiss to Slater's lips. The old radio in the hallway is almost always turned on, crooning some sort of country song whenever he walks into the house - and he may or may not have programmed the country station in St. Louis into his car.

Turns out that Slater was right about it growing on him.

Braydon tucks a few of Slater's curls behind one ear when he asks, "Does this mean I get a little dirty dancing and blue collar romancing?"

“That can certainly be arranged," Slater says, tracing Braydon's shoulders lightly. He chews his bottom lip a bit when he glances up through his lashes. "The bar isn't going anywhere so we _could_ just stay in, if you’d like."  

"After you spent all this time fancying yourself up?"

"Well, it was only for you and you already saw it, so..." Slater leans in, nips at Braydon's bottom lip. He grasps at Braydon's shirt, nuzzles their noses together as he adds, "I bet these fancy clothes would look really good in a pile on our bedroom floor."

Slater shifts so that he’s straddling Braydon, his still-bare feet planted on the floor when he grinds down, making Braydon gasp and grip at his hips.

“Are you _sure_ that you want to go out?”

“I thought that _you_ wanted to go out,” Braydon answers, leaning in for a kiss. “Show me off to your friends.”

“Oh is that why we were going?” Slater smirks.

“Yes. I want to meet your friends, twirl you around the dancefloor.”

Slater presses the softest kiss to Braydon’s lips, cupping his jaw with both hands. “Okay. Let me pick a belt and get my boots on.”

Braydon smiles, watching Slater scurry down the hall. Can’t leave the house without a belt buckle the size of Oklahoma.

 

The bar is the only place lit up at this time of night, buzzing neon hanging over the door and different signs of beer brands bright in the windows. There’s a row of guys in jeans and cowboy hats holding up the outside wall, smoking.

Slater parks his truck and hands the keys to Braydon. “Don’t let Witty talk you into shots.”

Braydon huffs a laugh. “ _You_ don’t let Witty talk you into shots.”

“Just like, two shots,” Slater compromises. “And then you can take me home.”

“Okay.”

Braydon follows Slater inside and is immediately accosted by yelling from the far corner and various shapes and sizes of cowboy weaving through tables and chairs to greet them.

“Finally meeting your boy, eh?” a very round-faced guy asks.

Slater beams, shoving Braydon forward into the crowd. “This is Braydon. Braydon, this is Adam, Tye, Connor, and Carter. You know Witty.”

“Clearly you’re having a good influence on him,” Carter says. “Finally cleaned off those boots.”

“Shut up,” Slater scoffs. “I’m buying a round.”

So the group heads to the bar, peppering him with back slaps and tight side hugs, while Braydon stays back with Witty.

“He was lonely for a while before you showed up on the side of the road,” Witty says. “It’s real nice to see him smiling like that again.”

Slater throws his head back, laughing at something Tye or Adam said.

“If you hurt him,” Witty continues. “I don’t think I’d take that very lightly. Just so you know. None of us would.”

Braydon’s chest warms and he bites his lip. “I wouldn’t be moving my whole life to a farm in rural Oklahoma if I didn’t think he was the one.”

Witty fixes him with a stare as he takes a swig of his beer. “Good,” he says, punching Braydon in the shoulder. “That’s what I like to hear.”

That’s when Slater returns with a bottle for Braydon. “Darts or pool?”

“I thought we were dancing?”

“Gotta warm me up first,” Slater says. “Darts or pool?”

“Uh, I don’t know if I’d pick either really…”

“That’s okay,” Slater says. “I’ll be good enough for the both of us.”

 

He wasn’t lying. Slater nearly runs the table without Braydon ever having to pick up his pool stick. Braydon, for his part, definitely doesn’t choke on his beer when Slater stretches out to make a shot, his slacks tight against the curve of his ass.

“Come up for air, Koeks!” Carter yells. “Pretend you’re bad for like, three minutes.”

Slater throws a smirk over his shoulder and Braydon’s knees nearly melt. “I’ll leave one and the eight ball, okay?”

Carter rolls his eyes but relents.

Slater sinks his last allotted ball just as Witty strolls over, belting out the current song playing. “Rain makes corn, corn makes whiskey! Whiskey makes my baby, feel a little frisky!”

“Back roads are boggin’ up, my buddies pile up in my truck,” Slater joins. “We hunt our honeys down, we take ‘em into town, start _warshing_ all our worries down the drain! Rain is a good thiiiiiing!”

It’s a lot for Braydon when Slater grabs him by the hand and leads him to the empty space left for dancing. He rocks their hips together as he continues to sing to Witty over Braydon’s shoulder. It’s a goofy song and Slater’s putting on a horrible twang to match the jukebox.

“Whiskey makes my baby, feel a little frisky,” he sings into Braydon’s neck as the chorus comes back around.

“Mhmm, it sure does.”

Slater tries to slip his hands in Braydon’s back pockets but he intercepts them both, settling them firmly on his waist.

“No fun.”

“There’s time for fun later.”

Slater huffs and wraps his arms around Braydon’s shoulders. “I think they really like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

Braydon’s a little lost in Slater’s eyes when the song changes, something soft and slow. Not at all a bar song. Slater tucks himself under Braydon’s chin and sways to the gentle guitar.

_In case you didn’t know, baby I’m crazy ‘bout ya..._

“They’re watching us,” Braydon says, catching the group of Slater’s friends lined up along the pool table.

Slater smiles against Braydon’s shirt. “Good.”

_...You had my heart a long, long time ago. In case you didn’t know..._

Slater’s hair smells like his shampoo and Braydon lets his fingers play with the curls at the base of his neck as they rock to the song. It’s easy to feel like they’re the only ones in the room when he looks down at Slater, eyes closed and mouthing along to the words.  

_...All of the things that I’ve been feeling, mmmm, it’s time you hear ‘em..._

“I love you.”

Slater’s eyes pop open, chin tilting up to fix Braydon with a stare. “What?”

“I love you.” It’s so, so easy to say, easier than he thought it’d be. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else right now.”

_...Even though, I don’t tell you all the time, you had my heart a long, long time ago…_

“Me either, darlin’,” Slater says. “I love you so much. In case you didn’t know.”

Braydon’s heart grows about two sizes and he can’t stop himself from kissing him, right there in the middle of a country bar for everyone to see.

Applause comes from the pool table and Slater turns to scold them. “Show’s over, boys!”

Adam waves a set of darts Slater’s way and he’s gone, never backing down from a challenge. Apparently Adam’s the only one who’s ever beaten him.

“I beat you once!” Tye shouts.

“You cheated,” Slater says, stepping up to the line. “So it doesn’t count.”

Braydon smiles and heads for the bathroom only to get intercepted by Witty, double-fisting Bud Lights.

“Sorry about earlier,” he says, holding out a bottle like a peace offering. “I’m protective of that guy. He deserves the best.”

Braydon shrugs. “I’m glad he has some good people looking out for him.”

“Well, _I’m_ glad that he has one more.” Witty taps the neck of his beer bottle to Braydon’s and heads back to the dart boards. Braydon figures that’s what approval looks like in Oklahoma.

//

The last call lights come on over the bar right on schedule and Slater lines up to take his second shot of the night. His hair’s gotten frizzier and more out of control as the hours have passed and the tips of his curls are glowing in the florescent lights.

Braydon absolutely loves him.

“Get over here!” Witty shouts, waving Braydon over to a row of whiskey shots.

“You know I’m the DD,” he says, slipping up next to Slater and curling a couple fingers in his belt loops. “Gotta get this guy home safe.”

Witty doesn’t hesitate to take the extra shot for himself, a little liquor spilling into his beard. Slater’s more coordinated with his, setting the glass back on the bar with a clank.   

Braydon leans in close enough for Slater to hear him without raising his voice. “You ready to go?”

Slater smiles up at him, lips glassy with whiskey. “Maybe.”

“C’mon, babe,” he does _not_ whine.

“Love it when y’call me babe.”

Braydon’s heart gives a little flutter when Slater says that word – _love_. God, he’s lucky. “I seem to remember something being said about fancy clothes on certain bedroom floors after two shots.”

“We’re leaving!” Slater announces.

He waves goodbye to almost everyone left in the bar before they make it outside. Braydon spots the truck under the only working streetlamp and steers Slater over the broken sidewalk and into the passenger seat.

“You sure you know how to drive this thing, hot stuff?” Slater says through a fit of giggles.

Braydon gives him a hefty dose of side-eye as he turns the key over. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

Slater does as he’s told and Braydon successfully pulls out of the parking spot without stalling.

The bar is a bit of a ways from the house – everything is – and Slater cranks the radio once they hit the open road, headlights leading the way through the winding countryside.

Braydon’s gotten more comfortable with the twisty roads and hills and broken middle line that gives everyone the right to pass him at will. He’s gotten better at driving Slater’s truck, too, keeping his beautiful sports car away from gravel roads and potholes.

He’s gotten better but he’s not _great_.

“Stop that,” he says when Slater’s hand finds its way to his thigh, just above his knee.

“’m not doing anything.”

“Liar. I need to focus.”

“No one’s out here,” Slater says, sliding his hand further up, fingers tracing the inseam of Braydon’s jeans. “It’s fine.”

Braydon downshifts as he comes to a turn, jamming the clutch a little harshly when Slater’s hand squeezes.

Slater hums. “Just keep your eyes on the road, baby.”

“Slater, I swear to god…” He hears the click of the seatbelt and then Slater’s got his whole body pressed up against Braydon’s side, the smell of whiskey still on his lips.

“Eyes on the road,” he whispers, taking Braydon’s earlobe between his teeth.

He groans when Slater’s lips trace behind his ear and down his neck, fingers coming up to work at the buttons of his flannel shirt. It’s not his fault when the truck hits the rumble strip as they take another turn.

“You could just pull over,” Slater says. “Turn off the headlights. Let me take care of you real quick.”

Braydon is so weak he almost considers it. But they’re close to the house, less than ten minutes away. They can both wait.

Except Slater gets his fingers up in Braydon’s hair which is such _dirty pool_ and he swerves across the center line and, “Ah fuck.”

The red and blue flashing lights are almost blinding in the rearview mirror.

Braydon slows to a stop and Slater slinks back over to his side of the truck, bashful for the first time tonight.

The officer knocks on the window and Braydon rolls it down.

“License and registr—Slater?!”

“Jake!” Slater beams, sliding back over to Braydon’s side. “They got you on the night shift, eh?”

“Yeah, still working my way up the food chain,” the officer, Jake, says leaning in through the window. “You know how it is.”

“Sure. Uh, hey, so, sorry about the swerving back there,” Slater says with a heart-melting smile. “He’s sober, I swear. I was just being distracting.”

Braydon might die of embarrassment if he has to do some kind of sobriety test. Even on his best days, he can’t recite the alphabet backwards.

“This your new beau?” Jake asks instead and Slater, if possible, scoots even closer.

“It sure is! Braydon, Jake. Jake, Braydon.”

Braydon shakes Jake’s hand.

“Guess it’s pretty serious if you’re lettin’ him drive your truck,” Jake says. “Consider this a friendly warning, bud. Try and keep it between the lines, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jake snickers. “ _Sir_. Where’d you find this guy, Koeks?”

“St. Louis,” he sighs. “Isn’t he lovely?”

Braydon’s glad it’s dark as he feels his cheeks flush.

Jake is clearly fighting back laughter. “Have a good night, boys.”

Braydon waits until he gets back into his cop car before driving off. Slater keeps his hands to himself despite being pressed up against Braydon’s side all the way until the farmhouse comes into view.

“I’m sorry I got you into trouble,” he says, wrapping his arms around Braydon’s waist.

They jostle up the driveway until Braydon puts the truck in neutral and steps on the parking brake. “You’re _bad_.”

He feels Slater’s smirk against his shoulder. “I bet I can be real good, though. If you wanted me to.”

The warm coals of desire building in Braydon’s gut spark into flames. “I bet you can.”

He trails a hand down into Braydon’s lap, teasing against the zipper of his jeans and Braydon fumbles, almost dropping the keys in his haste to shut off the engine.

Slater chuckles. “I don’t think the bedroom is going to disappear before we get there.”

“True,” Braydon pauses, takes a calming breath, continues, “But maybe I think the more time we spend there, the better.”

“Well, there is that,” Slater drawls, his smile blooming wide, visible even in the dark.

Braydon pulls his eyes away, popping the door and hopping down, landing properly for the first time since he made jumping out of truck cabs a habit.

They meet at the tailgate, fingers tangling when they crash together for a kiss.

“No, no. Inside,” Braydon insists when Slater tries to deepen it.

“You never did it in the back of a pickup before?” Slater asks through giggles. Braydon shakes his head, squeezes Slater’s hand, pulling him towards the sun-faded front door. Saves that thought for another time.

Braydon pushes Slater up against the wall the moment they step inside. He blindly kicks the door closed, leans in to press their lips together once more. It starts frantic, but he slows it down after a couple of seconds.

“Hey, I love you.” He never wants to stop saying it now that he’s started.

“Love you too,” Slater replies, his fingers slide into Braydon’s hair again, this time his eyes drift closed because he can enjoy the sensation.

“Babe,” Slater’s voice is so, so soft. Braydon blinks down at him. “You should come show me how much.”

Braydon doesn’t need to be asked twice. They head down the hall towards Slater’s bedroom. He winces when he steps right on the squeaky spot on the floor.

“Oh, sorry,” Braydon mutters, mostly distracted.

“Don’t worry about it.” Slater pins Braydon to the wall between his closet door and the bedside table and leans in. “What are you going to show me?”

“I...I want…” Braydon dips down towards Slater’s lips, but he leans back, keeping himself just out of reach.

“Why are you teasing me?” Braydon can hear the whine in his voice, but he doesn’t care. He grips Slater’s hips tightly, pulls him in.

Slater’s smile is devious, which could be good or bad. “Tell me what you want.”

Braydon blows out a little breath. “You, always you.”

Slater’s smile softens when he finally allows Braydon to kiss him. Braydon’s fingers find and twist into Slater’s curls and it’s when Slater’s lips skim down his neck and some of those curls brush along his jawline that he’s hit with sudden inspiration.

“Just keep doing that, that thing you're doing there,” he mutters.

“You like that?” Slater asks distractedly.

“Yeah, brush me with your hair, I swear...”

Slater pulls back suddenly, his eyes wide and excited. “Are you...are you _singing_ _country_ to me?!”

Braydon grins easily, leans in, sings low, “Make my world go black.”

Slater bites his lip and walks Braydon toward the bed, nearly tripping on his suitcase sprawled out on the floor. Braydon steadies him with firm hands on his hips. “Careful.”

“Can’t wait until that thing is out of here and in the shed where it belongs.” Slater pulls Braydon’s undershirt over his head, dropping it before shucking his own jeans and quickly moving onto his shirt buttons.  

“You were right. Your clothes do look good piled on the floor,” Braydon muses as Slater lets his shirt slide off his shoulders.

“Hush.” Slater’s hands go Braydon’s (still tasteful) belt buckle, his fingers nimbly working. “The only thing I want right now is you, knocked flat on your back.”

“Even I know those aren’t the right words.”

“I don’t care,” Slater answers, pushing Braydon down onto the bed and climbing up and over him.

Slater’s lips and hands, his _everything,_ are nothing short of frantic and Braydon would’ve sang to Slater ages ago if he’d known that it would only take a couple of lines to get him like this. It’s like he’s trying to touch Braydon everywhere all at once, his fingers brushing along Braydon’s stomach while his lips map out the shape of his shoulder, his tongue tracing the curve of his collarbone, the divot of his throat.

Braydon runs his hand over Slater’s elbow and down his arm. He plays lightly with the tips of Slater’s fingers then drifts back up, stopping when he reaches his chin, tilting it up gently and tracing his lips.

“But I think that might be a lyric,” Slater says, a little breathless, and he nips at Braydon’s fingers as they pass by.

“Could be,” Braydon answers, pulling Slater in for a kiss and holding him close.  

Slater gasps against his lips when their hips rock together. “I...I need you. Please.” He’s gentle when he traces the lines of Braydon’s face, brushes a thumb along his stubble. “Just want to feel you.”

“Okay.”

They shuffle out of their remaining clothes and Braydon gets caught watching the muscles of Slater’s back shift as he reaches into his bedside table. Because they’ve done this before but they haven’t...they haven’t done _this_ and Braydon’s breath leaves his chest when Slater presses the little bottle he pulled from his nightstand into his hand.

He fits in the space Slater makes for him between his thighs and spoils himself with looking - the cut of his hips, the pale skin of his stomach, dusty blond hair along the abs he got from slinging hay bales. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Slater huffs and twines his fingers with Braydon’s, leading him between his legs and curving them around his dick. “C’mon,” he says, shaky.

Braydon leans forward to capture Slater’s lips as he complies, works him over until his hips arch into his hand. He’s steady when he gets his fingers wet, warms the lube as he kisses down Slater’s chest and along his ribs. He takes his time pressing the first inside, feels Slater’s sharp intake of breath, the hand that holds his lips against Slater’s skin. He takes his time, makes Slater whine and shake with it when he finds the right spot inside him. Makes him pull at his hair when he takes the very tip of his dick into his mouth and stretches him further.

“Braydon,” he gasps.

His name’s never sounded so sweet. “Is that…?”

“ _Please_.”

Braydon slips his fingers free and Slater rushes to rearrange himself on his knees, watching over his shoulder as Braydon gets a condom.

He settles on his hands, arching back into Braydon’s touch and Braydon’s never been anywhere better when he presses into the heat of Slater’s body. Slater groans, satisfied, when Braydon’s hips are flush with his ass and then he reaches to pull Braydon closer.

They move like that, Braydon covering as much of Slater as he can, chest to back, lips to shoulders, arm wrapped tightly around Slater’s chest. The heat of their skin is almost too much, both gasping for breath between the snap of Braydon’s hips.

Braydon mouths between Slater’s shoulder blades, drags his hands to his waist to steady him as he tries to fin--

One of Slater’s arms shoots back, fingers digging into the meat of Braydon’s thigh. It’s so good, just like that, Slater holding on and choking back quiet moans, sweaty curls sticking to his neck. Braydon’s hand slips around to Slater’s stomach, pulling him back into each thrust. He so badly wants to feel more of Slater around him, feel him shake through it, hold him as he comes down.

“C’mon, babe,” he breathes against Slater’s ear.

The fingers pressing into Braydon’s thigh tighten, blunt nails carving marks there, and Slater hangs his head, lets Braydon move him, lets him wrap a hand around his dick.

He shouts when he comes and Braydon can’t he can’t he can--.

They shake together, deep breaths filling up the quiet room. Braydon keeps Slater close, a palm pressed to his chest to feel the beat of his heart slow in time with his own.

He never wants to pull away, but it won’t be comfortable to stay wrapped up like this for long, so he does. Reluctantly. Slater whines at the loss, and boy, does he ever understand. “I’ll be right back,” he mutters into Slater’s shoulder. He plants a little kiss there before slipping from the bed.

Braydon pads down the hallway and into the bathroom. He turns on the sink - it takes the water forever to warm up - and tends to the mundane business of cleaning himself up before flipping a towel over his shoulder, wringing out a washcloth, and heading back to the bedroom.

Slater is lying on his side, facing the doorway and carefully arranged around the wet spot. A small, soft smile lights his face when Braydon steps into the room. “Hey, missed you, darlin’.”

How did Braydon ever think he could drive away and leave this behind?

“I missed you too,” Braydon says, stepping up to the bed. He absolutely traces Slater’s abs more than is necessary when he cleans him up, but who can blame him? Certainly not Slater, if Braydon goes by the way he melts into the action. He settles the towel over the wet spot so he can curl up next to Slater, pull him close.  

He runs a knuckle up Slater’s jaw as he says, “I don’t want to leave you again.”

“Well, this is the last time,” Slater answers. “Soon we’ll be packing up that fancy apartment of yours.”

“It’s a condo.” Braydon lets his fingers tangle back up in Slater’s curls.

“How is that different, exactly?” Slater leans into Braydon’s hand.

“Well, I own it, for one.” Braydon pulls Slater’s lips to his own, kisses him slowly, like they already have all the time in the world.

“And second?” Slater prompts when their kiss breaks.

“That’s about it, really,” Braydon admits. Slater huffs quietly and Braydon looks at him, enjoys the glow from the open window on his skin. He debates telling Slater how good he looks, but then remembers that they didn’t quite finish their song.

“The moon outside is too bright. We should close the blinds.”

“I don’t even have blin--.” Slater shakes his head, grins. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So are your belt buckles.”

Slater’s laugh is strong and full, filling the whole room when he rises to close the curtains. He climbs back into bed, Braydon pulls him close again. “Please tell me your rooster sleeps in on Sundays.”

Slater burrows closer. “Waking up early is good for you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics/inspiration included in this masterpiece are Dirt on My Boots - Jon Pardi; Rain is a Good Thing - Luke Bryan; In Case You Didn't Know - Brett Young; All Over the Road - Easton Corbin; Black - Dierks Bentley (pls don't sue us).


End file.
